


Malcontent loves the Silence

by DraconicSeraphim



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Bad Ideas, Drunk Sex, F/M, Jealousy, Pseudo-Incest, Raven makes bad life choices, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 07:08:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8788423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DraconicSeraphim/pseuds/DraconicSeraphim
Summary: Before Erik or Hank or any of the rest Charles and Raven had their own problems. More mundane, to be sure, but sometimes working through them ends with surprising results.
In which Raven is jealous, Charles is a little deceptive, and they do something decidedly unsibling-like.





	

  
**Jealousy would be far less torturous if we understood that love is a passion entirely unrelated to our merits.**   
_-Paul Eldridge_   


It was a bar she had been in dozens of times but never like this. Always coming in on Charles’ arm, smiling and laughing and supporting him… and always leaving alone. Charles was her brother in so many ways but there would always be a little bit of distance between them, a difference that she didn’t think would ever go away. Years of revulsion and abandonment that Charles with his perfect life could never understand. Oh his life wasn’t perfect, she knew that, but by comparison to the abuse that was her own early childhood it was all she could come up with. Perfect. And handsome and flirtatious and charming...

 

_And her brother._

 

More and more lately, though, she’d felt him pulling away, too busy partying and being a genius to have time for his little sister. He’d always been so good at never making her feel like a burden, even when she knew she was being one. But now… Even when they went out together, just them, 2 beers was enough to have him chasing after the nearest piece of ass.

 

Which wasn’t entirely fair to the women he brought home, she supposed, it’s not like they could help being seduced by him. He insisted that he might lift their preferred drink or favorite color but he’d never actively influence them into having sex with him. He didn’t need to.

 

Arrogant son of a-

 

She was jealous. Fine. She could admit that here, alone where he’d left her, knowing she’d spend part of the night hiding when he returned home with his latest conquest. Not that he couldn’t just erase her existence from their minds if they happened to catch sight of her but he always got so cross with her. It was infuriating, really, ignored more and more and then told she wasn’t even meant to be comfortable in her own home, as though she should hold her blonde form indefinitely. As though it was no effort in the slightest. Which was just like him, assuming everyone’s abilities were just as easy to control as his own. 

 

She wasn’t being fair again and she knew that but the man seemed to live a charmed life and sitting on the outside as she was lately she could only feel like she was no longer a part of the same world as him. Charles and these gorgeous, brilliant, _normal_ women that went to fancy universities and wore clothes she could never dream of affording without Charles’ help… pity? She was so jealous sometimes and angry and hurt and-

 

She’d pushed abruptly to her feet, a shiver rippling over her skin that felt like she imagined goosebumps to feel. Then she was striding from the apartment, heels snapping dully against the plush carpet, stride determined as she concentrated on tweaking her form until it was just right. Right enough that she felt confident now, stepping into this bar so close to their apartment, to the school. Bright emerald eyes flitted over the crowd she was so familiar with, gold lacquered nails glinting as she reached up to tuck back a stray fall of thick straight hair a brown so dark it was nearly black. Dark and gleaming in the dim lighting of the bar, making bronze highlights shimmer down the long strands with every step. 

 

The clothing wasn’t real, not exactly, but it was pressed and professional and she’d already decided she was a business major. Marketing, perhaps? Yes that would work. Surely no one really wanted to talk about school all that much. Not like Charles. Charles who was sitting at a table with a pair of men she knew he shared classes with, talking, laughing that rich warm laugh that made women’s knees go weak. Not hers, of course, he was her brother after all but she had seen it often enough.

 

She forced her gaze away, pushing him from her mind, slowly and carefully putting up the mental blocks he’d taught her, trying not to make it obvious what she was doing when one of his colleagues looked over and whistled softly. 

 

Pale coral lips curved into a wicked smile as she sauntered to the bar, letting the almost too short skirt sway, offering teasing flashes of the tops of stockings that were real. “White Russian.” She said cooly, promoting an air of confidence she had perfected over years of pretending to be someone, some _thing_ she was not. There was no question, just a flash of a smile and a nod from the bartender and she let a little of the tension ease out of her. It was amazing the difference nicer clothes, confidence, and the absence of an infuriating older brother that refused to let her drink anything but soda could do. She took the glass, sipping slowly, letting the alcohol burn down her throat and carefully drinking slowly enough that she needn’t worry about choking and giving herself away. 

 

Before she knew it a handsome blonde man was sliding onto the stool beside her, murmuring something about angels in thigh highs and she laughed, warm and throaty, her voice a little more sultry than usual. The conversation was brief, his offer clumsy, and she denied it but she reveled in the attention. It wasn’t her, not really, she knew that. But there was something exhilarating about being here, pretending to be someone she wasn’t, doing things she wasn’t supposed to, living a life that wasn’t hers, deceiving her brother just a little. 

 

The blonde man wasn’t the first one to come to her, offering her another drink which she declined. Charles was right about one thing, she could not possibly afford to let anything slip. It was a solid hour of denying men left and right and sipping on water before he came to her, grinning like a fool, his familiar scent lost under that of cheap beer. “Now the way I see it, you’re looking for someone willing to take a bit of risk.” He purred, leaning on the bar beside her, so very close. Charles motioned to the bartender and, without asking her permission, ordered something called a Brandy Alexander.

 

She smiled, slow and sultry as she had been all night, concentrating on silencing the spike of anxiety. He’d realized. She was in so much trouble. He was going to kill her. He’d-

 

Ordered her a drink?

 

Green eyes widened slightly, brows lifting, and then she was flashing her teeth in a vibrant smile. “Well aren’t you confident.” She teased, anxiety abruptly giving way to anger. He was buying her a _drink_!? How dare he preach to her so often about being in control at all times when he was so drunk he didn’t- he hadn’t even realized- she was his _sister_ goddammit. But the drink came and he slid it into her hand, extracting her water glass with that cocky smile and she inwardly fumed, absolutely furious but trying so hard to keep her mind quiet. She wanted to yell at him, to throw that drink in his face, to-

 

Oh he’d kill her but it would be worth it.

 

She smiled again, pleased and contented as she lifted the glass to her lips. A lifted brow to ask a silent question, admitting that she had no idea what the drink was, and then she took a sip and another larger swallow when she realized how delicious it was. Thick and sweet like the white russian but warmer and spicier. He smiled at her, that warm, confident smile with his lips pressed just so as he hummed his approval. She’d seen that look a hundred times, watched as he smothered a grin behind a soft sound, and she’d known every time that the woman he looked at like that was doomed from the start. It was usually the point where she either conveniently excused herself to the restroom so he could leave without feeling guilty for abandoning her or forcefully reminded him that he was meant to be spending time with her.

 

It was something quite different to be on the receiving end of that look. To know without a doubt that his mind was travelling to thoroughly inappropriate places and to watch the heat bleed into those perfectly crystalline blue eyes and-

 

His fingers traced over hers around the glass. “It’s one of my favorites… nice to meet a lady who can drink something that doesn’t come with fruit in it.”

 

She shivered despite herself, his fingers warm on hers and his voice pitched low and soft in a way that made her stomach do odd little rolls. The reminder of her drink was the perfect excuse to draw her hand away, letting the spice and heat calm the sudden emergence of butterflies in her belly and leave her flushed in a way she couldn’t quite control. It should have sent alarm bells ringing in her head but somehow nothing else quite mattered and she vaguely wondered if this was because Charles was doing something to her without her realizing it or if he was just _that_ good.

 

Apparently it was just that he was that good because she certainly didn’t remember agreeing to leave the bar with him, not in so many words. An innuendo and the promise of heat in his gaze and her knees had been shaky when she stood from the barstool. His arm went around her waist and she realized just how much taller she’d made herself in this form, wondering absently if she’d subconsciously done so because she knew he liked taller women. Well, whether she meant to or not she was thoroughly going to enjoy raining on his parade and never letting the infuriating man live it down. So drunk on beer and his own ego that he didn’t even notice, not until he went and thought he was going to get laid. Hah!

 

She giggled softly, not really meaning to but it escaped without her permission and Charles squeezed her a little closer, flashing that bone-melting grin at her. Damn him for being so breath takingly handsome. 

 

In the elevator he moved closer to her, leaning into her and reaching up as though he meant to kiss her. She laid a finger against his lips and tsked softly, green eyes flicking up to the obvious surveillance camera in the corner. He chuckled, kissing her finger, and pressed so closely she could feel the laugh vibrate through his chest in a way that made those butterflies in her stomach dive lower and her breath quicken. 

 

He was going to be so embarrassed. Truly.

 

Once they were standing outside the door to their apartment, Charles fishing his keys deftly from his pocket, she had the first inkling that this was, maybe, a horrible idea that was going to blow up in her face. She pushed the thought away, refusing to believe that she might be in over her head. Nonsense. This was going to be brilliant fun. They’d just go inside and Charles would go to lead her to his bedroom and once she was out of his line of sight she’d just shift to her natural form and calmly ask what on earth he was doing. The look on his face would be priceless. Perhaps she should get her camera?

 

But then the door was open and he was inside and so was she and her skirt swirled around her as he pushed her against the door the moment it closed, his mouth on hers and his hands on her waist and oh- _Oh_

 

She barely had time to think about how this was not at all supposed to be happening like this because he was kissing her, lips so soft yet so insistent. Her breath caught in her chest and she barely registered the fact that her hands were clutching his shirt, holding onto him as the heat of his mouth left her to melt against the door. For a few magnificently dizzy moments that was all there was between them, lips and tongues and heat and hands and too much clothing and teeth and _oh his teeth_. Her lip ached, hot and swollen and it made her shudder against him, her hands somehow under his shirt, touching gloriously warm skin and skimming her nails over his ribs in a way that made him moan delightfully. 

 

She pushed up, away from the door, fingers gripping tightly at his sides and then he was the one with his back against rich wood and she was devouring his mouth, harder and more demanding than his soft, practiced motions. This was not what was supposed to be happening, she was still dimly aware of that, but it was so hard to care when he was warm and pliant beneath her. She pressed against him, small, eager sounds escaping against his lips, his hands on her hips, clever fingers dipping below the waistband of her skirt. The pressure she held against him eased slightly and he moved her away from the door, lips travelling to her throat when she gasped and clung to him to avoid tripping ridiculous heels that she promptly kicked off. It brought her closer to her usual height, made her a bit more comfortable moving which hardly mattered because somewhere in the time it took for her to toe off those heels, stumbling against him as she did, they’d rounded the living room and now she was pressed against the door to his bedroom. 

 

His mouth was hot against her skin, lips and tongue working at smooth skin and sending ripples of desire through her. Her hands clutched at his shirt, nails that had been gold earlier now devoid of polish as her concentration wavered and the details of this form got lost in the haze of heat and want. She pulled him close, groaned as that motion pressed his teeth in against her throat and gasped his name even as she pulled at his shirt. The soft sound of plastic buttons bouncing from the wall and skittering over the coffee table hardly registered as her hands finally found warm skin. 

 

One arm curled around her waist, pulling her up away from the door and she could feel him, hot and hard even through the fabric of his trousers where he pressed against her hip. Then the door was open and she was stumbling again, kept off kilter and enjoying every moment of it, for once not knowing what he would do before he’d done it. Not in the same way he did, of course, but familiarity made telepathy redundant most times anyway. This time when she stumbled though she was surprised to feel his hands, more powerful than she’d ever realized, grip her thighs, pulling her to him, lifting her slightly and she gasped again. Her legs obediently wrapped around him as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her with one hand and seeking out the hem of her blouse with the other. 

 

It was an exhilaratingly dangerous journey to the bed, her grip slipping at one point in response to something wicked he did with his tongue, his estimation of how close they were to the bed off by just enough that they almost ended on the floor. He laughed into her mouth then and she ached with the feel of him, that decadent sound warm and inviting against her lips, making her shudder and bury her fingers in his hair. Her blouse was gone and so was his shirt which left her arching beneath him to feel all of that marvelously warm skin against her. 

 

As quickly as it had come it was gone and she whined in her throat at the loss of contact, green gaze hazy and confused until suddenly she realized why he’d moved to his knees. She came up off the bed, one leg hooked over his shoulder as leverage when she felt that clever tongue move against the satin of her panties. Deft fingers reached up to tug the fabric out of the way which should have been awkward. Somehow it was only more exciting, the rush of it all, the desperate need that made her ache in ways she’d never quite felt before. When she felt his tongue part her, laving attention on her, she nearly screamed, fingers coming down to grip his hair as tightly as she could while he made her writhe against him. 

 

Her first orgasm took her by surprise, making her scratch at his scalp and shuddering hard when she felt that wicked, pleased little hum of his against her. It was decidedly unfair that he could still do that, still sound so smug even when she was slick against his lips and had strands of his hair clinging to her fingers even after she’d removed them. As she floated there, caught between want and satisfaction, the thought came to her that he was far far too good at this. That spark of anger from earlier flared to life again even as she lifted her hips to help him remover both her skirt and panties. She could hear the sound of leather and metal and knew he was removing his belt. Damn him for being so incredibly good at this. Too drunk to even realize who she was and here he was setting standards she was quite certain, in that moment, no one would ever exceed. He leaned over her, lips finding hers again and she moaned at the taste of herself on his tongue. Damn him and his gorgeous hair and wicked tongue and stupid brain and-

 

_Raven, do shut up._ A warm, rich feeling like his words were velvet sliding luxuriously around the inside of her mind.

 

Her eyes flashed open, green lost to gold in her shock. But then he was sliding inside of her and her mind went deliciously, blissfully blank.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know where this one came from, honestly. Not a pairing I usually ship but I was rewatching the movies and this just lodged itself in my brain. Regardless of how much I may or may not ship them it was lovely to start writing again.
> 
> Title is from My Skin by Natalie Merchant.


End file.
